A Daughter’s Ruin

Chapter 5

August ran into September and Constance’s eighteenth birthday passed with hardly any celebrations. She was given a locket set on a fine gold chain, and her mother had instructed Ethel to make her a cake, but that was all. In the basement Ethel had felt a little sorry for Constance and had made a bit of a fuss of her, presenting her with a pretty scarf. She’d been pleased to see that Constance had liked it.

However, it was now the end of September and Ethel was worried. Albie hadn’t been to visit for over four weeks, which was unusual. Previously the longest he’d gone without coming to see her was a fortnight. She wished she could go to her daughter’s house to ask if there was a problem, but no doubt Dora would slam the door in her face. Ethel’s forehead creased with worry. What if something had happened to Albie? He drove long distances and could have had an accident, but she had no way of knowing. She didn’t even know the name of the company he worked for and now wished she had asked him. Ethel slumped on a chair at the kitchen table, deciding that if Albie didn’t turn up soon, she’d go round to Dora’s whether her daughter liked it or not.

‘The mistress has got company and wants a tea tray,’ Mary said at noon as she ran down to the basement, ‘with some of those dainty cakes you made.’

‘Who’s called to see her?’ Ethel asked, glad to have something to turn her thoughts from Albie.

‘I don’t know, but she’s ever so posh.’

‘In that case, we’ll use one of the best tea services. Get the silver teapot out and the Royal Doulton china, along with the cakestand.’

Mary ran to do her bidding, while Ethel’s thoughts turned to Constance. The girl had returned to college weeks ago, setting off every morning on her bicycle, and she rarely came down to the basement now, but that was probably because she was studying hard for her exams. On the last occasion Ethel had seen her, Constance hadn’t mentioned Albie, and Ethel was relieved that the girl’s crush on him seemed to be a thing of the past. Mary probably still fancied him, but she could handle her, and if Albie took a shine to her, they were of the same class so it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Not that it was likely to happen; Mary wasn’t his type, she was a mousy little thing, and come to that, Miss Constance wasn’t much to look at either. Albie had jokingly said he fancied a bit of posh totty, and that was probably the only attraction.

With the tea made, Ethel arranged the cakes on the stand, then put the tray in the dumbwaiter while Mary ran upstairs to unload it. She was a good girl, worked hard, and though she was not the sharpest tool in the box, Ethel was growing fond of her. Mary had no parents, or any family that she knew of, but she seemed happy enough and never complained no matter how much work she was given to do. Ethel knew that Miss Constance had offered to help Mary with some housework, but the mistress wouldn’t hear of it. Of course that was no surprise – Mrs Burton Blake would never allow Constance to do menial work. She would consider it beneath her daughter, who was expected to marry well.

Constance found it difficult to concentrate at college and was glad when it was time to go home. Over a month had passed since that night on the common, and she was still ashamed of what had happened. Albie had made no attempt to see her again, and, though she was hurt at first, the hurt had turned to anger. Albie had just used her, and once he got what he’d wanted she’d been discarded.

The anger had gradually cooled and Constance had come to realise that if Albie didn’t want to see her again, it was probably for the best. Even if she’d wanted a relationship with him her mother would never have allowed it, so instead of moping she had thought about what she wanted to do with her life. The law drew her, with a view to becoming a barrister, but so did medicine. So far she’d been unable to make up her mind. There was no hurry, she had to swot for good exam results first, ones that would gain her entry into university.

‘Constance,’ her mother said as soon as she arrived home from college. ‘We have guests for dinner this evening and I want you to dress exceptionally well. Do something with your hair too – wear it up. And I suppose, on this occasion, it wouldn’t hurt if you wore a little make-up, perhaps some lipstick and powder.’

‘Why? Who on earth is coming?’

‘Elizabeth Willerby and her son, Rupert. Elizabeth came to have tea with me this morning and the arrangements for this evening were made.’

Constance groaned. She couldn’t stand Rupert, a namby-pamby mummy’s boy and an absolute bore. ‘Can’t I just stay in my room?’

‘Don’t be silly. The Willerbys come from old money and Rupert would be a good catch.’

‘Catch? As in a husband? No, Mother, I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth!’

‘You are hardly a catch yourself and can’t afford to be choosy. Anyway, we aren’t talking marriage yet. You’re still too young, but it can’t hurt to look at your options.’

‘Rupert isn’t an option, Mother. He looks like a horse.’

‘If you’re going to be picky you’ll never marry and you’ll end up an old maid.’

‘Does Daddy know about this?’

‘Yes, I rang to warn him we have guests for dinner and the reason why, so don’t think complaining to him will make a difference.’

Constance knew she was beaten. Like it or not she was going to have to spend an evening in the Willerbys’ company. However, there was no way she would consider marrying Rupert. She’d found little enjoyment in what had happened with Albie, and the thought of doing the same thing with Rupert turned her stomach. Constance knew she wasn’t much to look at, and that suitable men would never be queuing to marry her, but better to be an old maid than stuck with a man she couldn’t stand the sight of.

In fact, Constance thought as she went upstairs, it was better to concentrate on a career in the law or medicine and forget about marriage altogether.

Charles wasn’t in the best of moods when he arrived home. Hettie had called to say they had guests for dinner, which meant he wouldn’t be able to visit Jessica that evening. Instead he’d be stuck entertaining Elizabeth Willerby and her weakling of a son, both of whom he found utterly tiresome.

‘Hettie,’ he snapped when he walked into the drawing room, ‘I’m not happy about this evening.’

‘Oh, and why is that?’

‘I had other plans and don’t like being presented with a fait accompli. In future I want to be consulted first before you invite anyone to dinner.’

‘What were these other plans?’

Charles didn’t like being put on the spot and blustered, ‘I was going to my club.’

‘As you go there most evenings I’d hardly call it plans, whereas I’m trying to ensure our daughter’s future. Rupert would be an ideal suitor for Constance.’

‘Suitor? What on earth are you talking about, woman?’

‘I should have thought it obvious. Suitor, as in husband material.’

‘Not this again. As I have said before, Constance is too young to think about marriage.’

‘She’s eighteen now, it won’t hurt to look at her options.’

‘You can’t seriously think that Rupert is an option? The boy’s a fool.’

‘He is not! Nor is he a boy. Rupert is twenty-three.’

‘Is Constance happy about this attempt to marry her off?’

‘That isn’t what I’m doing, at least not yet.’

‘In that case, why have you invited him to dinner?’

‘Constance is gauche and needs to learn social skills if she’s to eventually find a husband. This evening will help her, at least I hope so, but she’s being rather belligerent.’

‘I can’t say I blame her, but as our guests will be here in about an hour, I should get dressed for dinner.’

‘Yes, me too,’ Hettie said, rising to accompany him from the room. ‘I’ll just have a word with Ethel about the menu, and I want to make sure that Mary is wearing a clean apron when she serves dinner.’

Charles was hardly listening to Hettie’s prattle, his mood still foul as he went upstairs. As far as he was concerned inviting the Willerbys to dinner was a waste of time. Rupert was totally unsuitable for Constance: the young man was a nincompoop, and if his daughter had any sense she’d realise that too.

By almost nine-thirty, Constance was fighting to hold back her mirth. She’d told her mother that Rupert looked like a horse, and when he guffawed at something he’d said – which he obviously felt was rather funny – he snorted, making him sound like one too. Worse than that, all he’d talked about so far were their stables, the horses he kept, the stud he had just acquired and his hopes for an Ascot winner.

‘I know the Queen loves horse riding too, and of course she always attends Ascot,’ Hettie said.

‘Yes,’ Elizabeth agreed, ‘and of course Rupert and I go to Royal Ascot too. It’s high up on our social calendar.’

‘I’m sure Constance would love to go, wouldn’t you, dear?’

Elizabeth was the one to answer, sounding amused as she said, ‘As Ascot was in June, Constance would have to wait until next year.’

‘Yes, yes, I realise that,’ Hettie blustered.

‘Of course you do,’ Elizabeth remarked, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

Constance hated her supercilious attitude and said bluntly, ‘I have no interest in horses or horse racing.’

‘Really? Then what does interest you?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘Medicine, and I intend to study it.’

‘Constance,’ her mother said, sounding aghast.

Elizabeth looked amused. ‘Goodness, Hettie, your daughter is quite the bluestocking.’

‘I think it’s commendable,’ Charles said firmly. ‘Many young women nowadays are not content to be just wives and mothers. They want careers, and in choosing medicine, my daughter will have a chance to make a difference. This is the first I’ve heard of this, Constance, but well done, my dear.’

Constance could hardly believe her ears. Her father rarely praised her, and most of the time he seemed hardly aware of her existence. ‘Th–thank you, Daddy.’

‘I don’t approve of young women with frivolous careers,’ Elizabeth commented.

‘I’d hardly call medicine frivolous,’ Charles retorted, ‘and even if it were, I don’t think my daughter needs your approval to pursue a career.’

‘My son wouldn’t approve either. He wants a wife to run his home, entertain his guests and, of course, provide him with an heir.’

‘I’m sure he’ll find a suitable brood mare, but it won’t be my daughter,’ Charles snapped, throwing down his napkin before rising to his feet. ‘I’m going to my study to smoke a cigar.’

‘But, Charles,’ Hettie protested, ‘we have another course. Mary is about to serve it.’

‘I’ve heard enough. Finish dinner without me,’ and with that, Charles left the room.

‘Your husband is rude and obnoxious,’ Elizabeth snapped angrily as she too surged to her feet. ‘Come, Rupert, I think it’s time to leave.’

‘But—’

‘Mummy, let them go,’ Constance interrupted hastily.

Henrietta drew in a breath, stood up and held herself erect. ‘Mary, please get Mrs Willerby’s wrap.’

‘Yes, Madam,’ the girl said, scurrying off and returning moments later.

The woman didn’t thank Mary, her manner haughty as she said a curt goodbye, Rupert doing the same and then following his mother out. As soon as the front door closed behind them Constance saw her mother go to pour herself a gin. It wasn’t her first, but so far there was no obvious sign that she’d been drinking. With some idea of what was coming, Constance braced herself.

‘Well, Constance, you really excelled yourself this evening. Your behaviour was appalling.’

‘In what way?’ Constance found the courage to ask.

‘All that talk of studying medicine.’

‘But why is that appalling? It’s something I’ve decided I’d like to do, that or law with a view to becoming a barrister.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. And if you said medicine to put Rupert off as a suitor, you certainly succeeded.’

‘Good, I’m glad she did,’ her father remarked as he walked back into the room, ‘and as I said, if Constance wants to study medicine I think it’s commendable.’

‘I’m considering law too, Daddy.’

‘Yes, I overheard, but you have plenty of time to make up your mind. In the meantime it wouldn’t hurt to look into what qualifications you’ll need and that might clarify things for you.’

‘Charles, I can’t believe you’re encouraging her.’

‘And I can’t believe you’re lining up fools like Rupert Willerby in an attempt to marry her off. Who’s next? Another idiot son of one of your so-called friends?’

With tempers rising, Constance felt it would be prudent to leave and said, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m a little tired and I think I’ll go to bed. Goodnight, Mummy, goodnight, Daddy.’

Her mother, tight-lipped, didn’t answer, but she received a smile and a goodnight in return from her father.

As she went upstairs Constance was still reeling from her father’s attitude. He rarely showed any interest in her, and she’d assumed that, like her mother, he just expected her to marry well. The last thing she’d expected was his support of her ambition to study medicine or law, and with him as an ally against her mother, she might just succeed.

For a while, Constance stood gazing out of the window. She saw someone passing the house by the light of a street-lamp, and unbidden thoughts of Albie sprang to mind. She’d been infatuated by his looks, taken in by his charm, and had foolishly given herself to him. She recalled Ethel saying that Albie had had a lot of girlfriends, leaving a trail of broken hearts, and now she was just another one on his list. Yet in all honesty she didn’t have a broken heart. It was more her pride that had been hurt – that and the fact that she had foolishly lost her virginity.

With an impatient shake of her head, Constance turned away from the window. She had better things to think about now, more important things, and a successful future beckoned. She would have to study hard, put all her efforts into her exams, good results being the first step in her chosen career. She decided she wouldn’t give Albie Jones another thought.

Chapter 6

Several more weeks passed, and it was now almost November. Albie still hadn’t visited and Ethel was going almost out of her mind with worry. On her afternoon off, unable to stand the stress any longer, she decided to go to her daughter’s house, hoping to at least get news of Albie before the door was slammed in her face.

It was cold outside and Ethel tucked her scarf under her chin as she waited for the bus that would take her to Battersea. Her daughter lived on Kibble Street, near Battersea Dogs Home, her house one of a row of two-up-two-downs with small back yards. It wasn’t the prettiest of streets, and the houses were poky, but as they were all owned by the Borough Council, the rent was cheap.

Taking in a deep breath to steady herself, Ethel knocked on the door, her fears proving unfounded when Albie answered it.

‘Gran, what are you doing here?’

‘You ain’t been to see me for a long time and I’ve been worried about you.’

‘I’ve been away, Gran. I’ve only just got back. I was planning on coming to see you tomorrow.’

‘Away where? It’s been nearly eight weeks.’

‘Erm … erm … I was working.’

Ethel frowned. She could always tell when Albie was fibbing and asked, ‘Where have you really been?’

‘Tell her the truth. Go on, spit it out and then she can bugger off.’

Ethel couldn’t see Dora but knew her voice that dripped with venom, and guessed she was hovering behind the door out of sight.

‘Mum, for goodness’ sake, shut up.’

‘Don’t tell me to shut up,’ Dora shouted, suddenly appearing. ‘You ain’t telling her, so I will.’

‘No, Mum.’

Ignoring Albie’s appeal, Dora spat, ‘You ain’t seen your precious grandson ’cos he’s been in the nick.’

‘What! No, surely not. Why, Albie?’ Ethel asked.

‘It was nothing much, just a bit of petty theft, that’s all, but I got caught and sent down for three months. I got out a bit early for good behaviour.’

‘Oh, Albie.’

‘Don’t look at me like that, Gran. I’ve learned my lesson and it won’t happen again.’

‘Right, you know where he’s been now so get lost,’ Dora said, pushing her way in front of Albie to shut the door.

Ethel was shocked by her daughter’s appearance. She’d been a beautiful young woman with blonde hair, a heart-shaped face and blue eyes. Now she looked thin and worn down, older than her years, but there were still traces of the beauty she used to be. Worried, Ethel asked, ‘Dora, are you all right?’

‘Yeah, but no thanks to you. Now just bugger off.’

‘Mum, I ain’t standing for this,’ Albie said, forcing himself to the front again. ‘I’m not going to let you shut the door in my gran’s face.’

‘It’s all right, Albie. I’m going now, but are you still coming to see me tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I’ll call in at around eight-thirty.’

‘Right, I’ll see you then. Bye, Dora.’

Ethel was unsurprised when her daughter didn’t answer. She gave Albie a wan smile before he closed the door, still shocked by what she’d heard as she made her way back to Clapham. She knew her grandson was a bit of a rogue, but this was the first time he’d been in prison.

She just hoped it was the last.

Jessica stood at her window, looking down onto Battersea Park, still missing Eric Dobson and their afternoons of lovemaking. She was finding it increasingly difficult to feign a response when she was in Charles’s arms; the feel of his flabby body was repulsive after Eric’s muscular frame. To compensate she’d been shopping again, but the new designer clothes were just strewn across her bed, doing nothing to fill the aching void. With an impatient shake of her head Jessica turned away from the window to look at the clock. It was only just after three and if Charles was going to turn up it wouldn’t be until around nine that evening. Hating the thought of being alone for more long hours, she made an impulsive decision to visit her old neighbourhood. As long as she kept away from the street where she’d been born and her parents still lived, she should be safe.

Jessica grabbed her handbag and left the flat, hoping to soon spot a taxi. It had been years since she’d used public transport so it didn’t occur to her to catch a bus, yet that had been the means she’d used to leave Hackney, vowing never to return. On that thought, Jessica froze. What was she doing? Why on earth was she going back? It was too risky. But of course deep down Jessica knew why. She knew Eric’s parents had left the area, but he still had friends there so she was hoping to hear news of him, though that was clutching at straws. She had no idea where he lived but doubted it would still be in Hackney. It couldn’t be, it was too far away and he’d been to see her every day on his last leave from duty. Anyway, he’d signed up for another trip so was probably still at sea.

With no way to contact him, Jessica fought back the tears that blurred her eyes. All she could hope for was that on his next leave, Eric would come to see her. But after the way they’d parted, she doubted that would happen, and now her shoulders slumped with defeat as she disconsolately made her way back to the flat.

By eight that evening, Jessica was ready, any trace of tears long gone and her make-up immaculately applied as always. It was over an hour later when Charles arrived, and she fixed a smile on her face to greet him. ‘Hello, darling. Would you like a sherry?’

‘Yes, please,’ he replied, looking very happy as he took the glass from her. ‘Though maybe we should be toasting with champagne.’

‘Really? Why’s that?’

‘I retire at the end of November and you know what that means?’

‘No, Charles. What does it mean?’

‘That you and I can spend more time together. I’m already planning to take you on a trip to Europe. You’ll love France, and Italy, especially Florence.’